by Sheila Tate
Midway into the first year, Prince Charles and Lady Diana were married in the wedding of the century. The Reagans were invited, of course, but the president was still recovering from the bullet wound he suffered in the attempt on his life on March 30. Nancy was having a hard time deciding if she should go to the July 29 wedding alone. The president kept encouraging her because he felt it would be good for her after the stress and sadness of the past few months.
She finally decided, in the face of the urging of the president and their friends, to attend. We who always traveled with her were, of course, thrilled with the decision for our own selfish reasons.
Nancy began organizing herself, her wardrobe, and gifts for her hosts. Her personal secretary was constantly dashing from her own office to the private residence with boxes upon boxes.
I dispatched our press advance people to London where they would spend the next few weeks organizing every detail of Nancy’s visit. Our social secretary was hard at work with the American embassy in London helping make last-minute arrangements for the American dinner.
I flew with Nancy and her guests, arriving a week before the wedding.
For days in advance of the actual wedding, there were nonstop parties, a reception at Buckingham Palace, and a highly publicized polo match in which Prince Charles would compete while his nervous fiancée watched.
The polo match was first up. What a treat. The Queen drove herself to the match, because, as I recall, it was on her property. The British press made much of our multicar motorcade in comparison to the Queen’s understated arrival. They were also fascinated by one of our female Secret Service officers who was repeatedly photographed while she stood guard. The headline the next day under her picture: “Gun Girl.”
Lady Diana sat under a tented area. It was possible to walk directly in front of her, within a few feet. I did just that and can still see her, a little bit slumped in her chair, biting her fingernails. I remember thinking at the time that she looked every bit the nineteen-year-old teenager who had to be under an amazing amount of pressure.
With no knowledge of the finer points of polo, we Americans took in the scene with thundering horses riding up and down the field, often close enough to our seats to throw turf up into our boxes. I have no idea who won, but at least Prince Charles emerged without injury.
The first formal social event was a wonderful private dinner party. Its hosts, Henry and Drue Heinz, were well-known Americans and loyal Reagan supporters. Their estate was overlooking a lake and we received word from our advance people that the hosts planned to have Nancy arrive by water, carried across the lake on a small “swan” boat. We managed to kill that plan; she arrived by car. She wanted to keep a low profile but her hosts, naturally, wanted lots of attention given to the arrival of the First Lady. The press was behind every hedgerow, so to speak. They were not allowed inside, as was the custom when royalty was present. As a result, the American press was counting on me to give them some “color” or background on the event. I remember feeling a bit of panic during the cocktail hour when several beautiful British women were talking “at” me. I said “at” not “with” because I could not understand a word they were saying. I remember feeling like Dorothy Parker, who wrote that she always felt like she had a papoose on her back when she was talking to an Englishman. It took me about an hour to adjust to the accent well enough to understand them and to mentally file away several stories to satisfy the needs of the American press.
I will never forget the butler at that dinner party. Partly because he was the first private butler I had ever met in my life but also because when I asked him for directions to the ladies’ room he replied, “Oh, no, madam. Ladies hold their water at the Heinz estate.” He read the confusion on my face, broke into a big smile, and showed me the way. Turns out his previous employer was Bing Crosby and he was known far and wide for his comedic talents.
Ambassador and Mrs. John J. Louis held a wonderful dinner one night during the week before the wedding, at Winfield House, the ambassador’s official residence. We arranged for the American press to get some good pictures of the First Lady and, hopefully, reward us with favorable coverage. I worked all afternoon, figuring out how best to escort photographers from one area to another. That night, I walked that route one last time, deep in thought. Someone had changed the furniture around and before I knew it I found myself in the men’s room! A man was very much present and a strong ammonia-like scent enveloped the room. You have never seen anyone whip around and get out of a room more quickly than I did.
The one-hundred-person dinner guest list was impressive. Among those in attendance were Princess Grace of Monaco and Princess Alexandra, cousin of the Queen, Walter and Lee Annenberg, Lord and Lady Astor, Edgar Bergen, the famous ventriloquist, the Bloomingdales, Marc Bohan of the House of Dior, Lord and Lady Soames, Mr. Harold Evans and Tina Brown, Mr. and Mrs. Douglas Fairbanks, Dr. and Mrs. Armand Hammer, Mr. and Mrs. Henry Heinz, Mr. and Mrs. Joseph Lauder, Ambassador and Mrs. Charles Price, General and Mrs. Bernard Rogers, US Army Supreme Allied Commander, Europe, and Barbara Walters.
Nancy’s table was the center of the social event. She was flanked by Ambassador Louis and the Duke of Norfolk. The remaining seven guests at the table were: Princess Grace, Lord Carrington, the Chief of Protocol, the Duke of Marlborough, Mrs. Bloomingdale, Lord Soames, and Princess Alexandra. I remember watching the dinner from my vantage point and noticing that Nancy finally seemed to relax and enjoy herself after months of stress. Maybe the trip was working its magic.
Like the millions of viewers across the world, I watched the historic wedding itself on television. Several of us sat in comfort at the American ambassador’s residence and watched it thanks to our wonderful hostess, Jo Louis.
Nancy represented our country well and we brought home some indelible memories. Nancy wore a soft peach ensemble by James Galanos with a silk crepe faille blouse, skirt, and coat embellished with a moiré lapel and a matching chiffon scarf and hat. Now, that was a mouthful. (It took a lot of skilled research to uncover the proper way to describe her outfit.)
I can still see Diana’s dress and that huge train. Her engagement ring was so distinctive, a blue sapphire surrounded by diamonds. I raced to Harrods Department Store in London to buy replicas ($20.00 each) to take back to the States. Nancy’s pal, Betsy Bloomingdale, was on our return flight and when she saw my fake she had to have it, so I gave one to her. I just wish I knew where mine is today. Lost to history or turning green on somebody else’s finger.
* * *
Back in the good old USA, reality hit again. Altogether, the focus on decor, new china, and loaned clothing, added to the mingling with royalty, was creating an unfortunate—and to my mind inaccurate—early image of Nancy Reagan. Worse, it was against the backdrop of tough economic times. Nancy appeared to the public as insensitive and even selfish. We had been much too slow in getting on top of these issues.
Nancy recognized her image was at the point where it might begin to hurt the president, the last thing in the world she wanted to have happen. It was also high time the American public got a more fulsome view of the interests and concerns of the First Lady. And a better sense of her heart. The intense work to organize an effective campaign against youth drug abuse was finally under way. It would be another three months before we could launch.
4
Always an Actress
After a tough first year with lots of negative press coverage of the redecoration of the White House, revelations of borrowed designer gowns and jewelry, and a new Reagan china service, Nancy needed to work on her image. She knew it and was willing to help fix it.
The Gridiron Club, a Washington institution with a long, interesting history, would play a pivotal role in that process. The club was all male, made up of sixty members drawn from self-described elite Washington political reporters, from its inception in 1885. Ninety years later Helen Thomas o
rganized a campaign to get women reporters included. The Gridiron comes together once a year to “roast” politicians based on the foibles of the past year—that is the club’s sole reason for existence.
The Gridiron’s traditions have been unchanged over the years. The white-tie audience is composed of mostly media elite sprinkled with well-known political figures. The evening always begins with the “Speech in the Dark” given by the club president. There are always red roses on the tables and a huge, eerie “Gridiron”-shaped light behind the head table. The roast performance is always a musical production, claiming to “singe but never burn.” There is always a toast to the president and the evening ends with everyone standing and singing “Auld Lang Syne.”
The Gridiron has another tradition, one that it ignores regularly. The dinner is “off the record,” meaning no cameras, no recording, and no reporting of what happened that night. And yet, as soon as the evening ends, reporters report and major stories are prepared for Monday morning newspapers.
Over the years, I’d read those accounts of the Gridiron Dinner, always colorfully reported. Public figures who made “mistakes” during the preceding year typically were targeted for musical mockery.
I was fairly certain Nancy would be too juicy a target to pass up so I started talking to staffers about a month in advance. I talked with Mike Deaver and Jim Baker, to line up their support for my idea to have Nancy make a surprise appearance at the dinner. I knew she would want their opinion so I worked to stack the deck. Both agreed. Then I took the idea to Nancy who instantly liked the plan and gave me the green light to broach the subject with the Gridiron. I called Helen Thomas, dean of the White House Press Corps and an active member of the Gridiron, and asked her to feel out the club leadership as to their receptivity. Within an hour the president of the club was sitting in my office assuring me they would love her participation.
In the annals of Gridiron history, President Nixon and Vice President Agnew played a piano duet based on the infamous Nixon “southern strategy.” In 1976 Betty Ford wowed the audience with a soft shoe dance. And one year the Carters did a jitterbug.
The club president explained to me that my suspicions were right. The club had already assembled the “Nancy” chorus of journalist singers who were rehearsing a version of “Second Hand Clothes” based on the song “Second Hand Rose,” mocking her practice of wearing clothes furnished by well-known fashion designers like Adolfo, Galanos, Ralph Lauren, and Bill Blass.
Recently, I was amazed to find the yellowed typewritten lyrics that were furnished to me by my “mole” at the Gridiron. They’d been in my basement filing cabinet for thirty-six years. It was the song the reporters were going to sing mocking Nancy. My source thought it would help us respond, but just in case it didn’t, they also furnished me with their suggestions for Nancy’s musical response.
Here is what the Gridiron singers would open with: “Second Hand Clothes” based on the music of “Second Hand Rose” sung often slightly off-key:
I gave my second-hand clothes
To museum collections and traveling shows.
They were oh, so happy that they got ’em.
Won’t notice they were ragged at the bottom.
Second-hand dress,
Good bye, you old worn out mess.
I never wear a frock more than just once.
Calvin Klein, Adolfo, Ralph Lauren and Bill Blass,
Ronald Reagan’s mama’s going strictly first class.
Rodeo Drive, I sure miss Rodeo Drive
In frumpy Washington.
Second-hand rings,
Donate those old used-up things.
Designers deduct ’em
We’ve living like kings.
So what if Ronnie’s cutting back on welfare
I’ll still wear a tiara in my coiffed hair.
Second-hand frock,
Press critics are such a crock,
Why don’t they just hush up and go away.
Calvin Klein, Adolfo, Ralph Lauren and Bill Blass
Ronald Reagan’s mama’s going strictly first class
Rodeo Drive, I’ll be back, Rodeo Drive
In nineteen eighty-five.
That closing line was to indicate Ronald Reagan would be a one-term president and the press was quietly pointing the finger at Nancy Reagan for being responsible. Singe, not burn?
The Gridiron Club recommended the following guidance for Nancy’s entrance:
“As applause for the Gridiron song starts, a 7th Avenue garment rack is rolled out by a couple of bellboys. The clothes part and out comes Mrs. Reagan. She says:
‘Hold it, hold it, hold it.
Colonel, could I see the score please?’
Mrs. R. looks through the score, tapping her foot.
‘I have a few corrections. Hit it, Colonel.’ (And then she begins to sing.)
‘Donnie Radcliffe, Helen Thomas and Judy Mann
Ronald Reagan’s mama will now take a stand
Second hand news, you’re peddling second hand news
The same old Washington blues.’ ”
With that they suggest Mrs. Reagan blow the audience a kiss and walk off arm in arm with the bellboys.
The Gridiron was suggesting that Nancy walk out and give them the back of her hand. As soon as I read this, I knew we were going to take an entirely different tack but we never told the Gridiron in advance. Nancy needed to make fun of herself, not blame the press.
With that knowledge, Landon Parvin, our talented speechwriter, went to work and wrote Nancy’s response, also based on “Second Hand Rose”:
I’m wearing second hand clothes,
Second hand clothes,
They’re quite the style
In Spring fashion shows.
Even my new trench coat with fur collar,
Ronnie bought for ten cents on the dollar.
Second hand gowns,
And old hand-me-downs,
The china is the only thing that’s new.
Even though they tell me that I’m no longer queen,
Did Ronnie have to buy me that new sewing machine?
Second hand clothes,
I’m wearing second hand clothes,
I sure hope Ed Meese sews.
I think my main contribution was to suggest “I sure hope Ed Meese sews” to the last line.
Instead of thumbing her nose at the press at the Gridiron, Nancy revealed her sense of humor and her willingness to take a chance to win back the media’s goodwill by poking fun at herself, something of which they did not think she was capable. And the First Lady as songstress was a huge first for the Gridiron.
Nancy began to secretly rehearse her version of “Second Hand Clothes” well in advance while her staff, led by our intrepid social secretary, Muffie Brandon, created an outrageous outfit of mismatched and ill-fitting clothes, a hat, and rubber boots.
The morning of the big event the clothing was spirited away to the Capital Hilton in advance so that Nancy could surprise her husband with her unexpected appearance. In keeping with long-standing tradition, both the president and First Lady would be present, along with other members of the cabinet and senior staffers. It was important to Nancy to keep her appearance a secret from the president because that gave her the ability to focus on surprising him and not get nervous, she explained. That, as well as her experience as a movie actress many years earlier.
Landon remembers that she was still nervous and several times during the dinner asked him to sneak backstage and check that everything was in order. At one point he really needed to avail himself of the men’s room. He raced inside, finding every urinal in use, so he ran into one of the stalls. Having never worn white tie and tails before, he forgot about the “tails�
� and as a result had white tie and wet tails the rest of the evening.
But I digress. Back to the stage.
The journalist/chorus sang its parody about Fancy Nancy without any knowledge that she was planning an appearance. In the middle of their song, Nancy left the head table with the audience assuming she was unhappy. Very unhappy. She’d told the president she needed to go to the ladies’ room. The publisher sitting on my left, having taken note of her departure, leaned behind me and whispered to the publisher on my right, “Nancy Reagan just left. I bet she’s pissed!” I pretended not to hear him. Meanwhile, my blood pressure was so high my head was pounding.
Moments later, having quickly changed into her costume, Nancy emerged from behind a rolling rack of clothes and began to sing. It took the audience at least thirty seconds to realize it was the First Lady dressed as the Bag Lady. The room felt electric. I turned to look at President Reagan and saw the real surprise in his eyes. He just lit up.
She was masterful. She’d taken her acting experience of thirty years previous to a new level, adding the ability to belt out a great song for her audience.
As she finished, she held up a fake piece of the new Reagan china and slammed it to the stage floor. It bounced across the floor but did not break.
The reporters and publishers, the broadcasters and producers had risen as one screaming their approval and demanded an encore. She obliged. At the end of her reprise, she once again slammed the plate to the floor and it smashed to smithereens. The response was even more enthusiastic.
Believe it or not, during those ten minutes of her performance, that Saturday night, the attitude in that room toward Nancy actually changed. You could feel it. She had them in the palm of her hand. The press was going to give her another chance and she was going to take full advantage of it.
It took real guts for Nancy to expose herself to the potential ridicule that a performance like this might generate. Nancy knew that. That’s why she spent so much time on every detail of the lyrics, her outfit, and even her grand entrance. She deserved an Academy Award! And I think that if Ronald Reagan had been responsible for deciding who won the Academy Awards that year, she would have been a cinch for Best Actress.